Canst thou, fond heart, lament for this?
by Marvelgeek42
Summary: There is no worse pain than a mother loosing her child. Or rather, children, in Molly Weasley's case. [Possible trigger: miscarriage; title from the poem Alexander Hamilton wrote about the Death of Elias Boudinot's child.]


**Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Season Four (Round 12)**

 **Team: Puddlemere United**

 **Position: Seeker**

 **Prompt: Write a DRAMATIC story about THE WEASLEY FAMILY**

 **Word Count without A/N: 2,105 (Google Docs)**

 **Dedications: _CupCakeyyy_. Alina, you helped me so much, you deserve it. (That's twice in a row now!)**

* * *

"Do you ever wonder why Charlie is so much older than Percy?" Nine-year-old Ginny Weasley asked her older brother Ron after their mother had stood up to make them a hot cocoa.

It was a cold day, especially if you considered it was only November. They were lying in front of their fireplace, wearing three layers of clothes each and would most likely still be shivering were it not for the warming charms their mother had placed on them.

"Not really. Why?" Ron replied, absently munching on a chocolate frog.

"It's just… everyone of us is only a year or two apart. Except for Charlie and Percy. There are almost four and a half years between them! I just wonder if something happened..."

* * *

Unknown to her children, Molly Weasley heard their conversation. She sighed. She knew that this day would come sooner or later.

She had to sit down as the memories kept flooding her. Memories she cherished and loathed at the same time.

Oh. how she wished it had ended differently. Every year on February sixteenth, she dwelled on what could have been, if only….

Molly shook her head and stood up. It was no use to dream about things that had long since passed, things that she could not change.

No matter how much she longed to.

* * *

Arthur came home late that evening. Ron and Ginny insisted that they waited for him to arrive. After they snuck downstair the third time, Molly agreed. At least this way she wasn't left to her thoughts, because she was certain she would end of thinking of…

And she would not have liked it, not without her husband's support. Of course, she supported him the same way; they could only do this together.

So Molly sat in the living room with her two youngest, playing _Snitch Snatcher!_ — and hopelessly losing, not because she let them win, but because she never quite understood it. Of course the game was only made for two people—it was miniature Quidditch after all—thus they took turns; the one who was not playing was pretending to be a commentator or a referee.

When Arthur finally came home around ten in the evening, Ginny was playing Ron and Molly was the referee. Of course the game was interrupted the second they noticed their father, as both of them jumped up and raced towards him.

Her husband almost fell over, but somehow he managed to stay standing.

Now that the children had seen their father, they were suddenly less awake than they had thought they were. It did not take long until they were fast asleep, which pleased Molly, as now she could have an uninterrupted discussion with her husband. She didn't particularly want to remind him, but she had no choice.

"Arthur?"

"Yes, Molly?" Her husband questioned, clearly confused by her tone.

"I think we need to tell our children about…" She trailed off, unable to even speak of it—of her. Molly shook her head. "I heard Ginny wondering if something happened between Charlie's and Percy's birth and..."

"And you don't like keeping secrets from our children. At least not unless they would be in danger if they knew," her husband guessed her thoughts.

"Precisely," Molly said.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, neither willing to speak about what was possibly their worst memory.

"Let's tell them tomorrow," Arthur suggested eventually. "Ginny and Ron can know now. They are old enough to understand. We will tell the others when they get back from Hogwarts."

"I agree. This is not something you mention in a letter…." Molly nodded.

No matter what they tried, their minds always returned to that topic, so they decided to head off to bed.

* * *

That night, she dreamed of her first daughter again.

Drenched in sweat, her face wet with tears, she woke up abruptly, trembling all over.

It had been a couple of years since the nightmares had stopped. The first few days, weeks, hell, even _months_ had been pure torture; to feel the emotional pain she had lived through when they had told her her baby wasn't moving, to feel the horrible dread she had lived through when they had told her they couldn't detect a heartbeat, to feel the same feeling she had lived through when they had taken her unmoving daughter out of her womb….

Molly suppressed a sob as she thought about the small body in the bundles of sterile looking blanket, hazardly wrapped around her broken body. She had wanted to hold her, to cuddle her, make sure she was okay, but she knew that she wasn't. She _knew_ her baby girl was dead, but seeing her on the cold metal table, barely covered by the cold looking cloth, as if forgotten and ignored….

A trembling hand shot up to cover her mouth. She didn't want to wake up Arthur, who had done so much for her during her time of need.

A lone tear slid down her wet cheek, as she saw her loving husband in front of her mental eye, holding her hand, squeezing it hard, as it to tell both her and him that they still had each other, that not everything was lost, that they still had beautiful boys waiting for them at home, that they could and would get over this.

She turned around and watched her sleeping husband. His face was scrunched up, his forehead slightly shiny with a thin layer of sweat. A sad smile crept onto her face.

They had had to be there for their kids as they had come home that day from the hospital. They had had to explain to their boys, to Billy and Charlie, neither older than five, why baby Freya had to stay behind, why they weren't allowed to see her.

If you are a parent, you can't just stop functioning, wallowing in self-pity, excluded from everything the world offered, including your kids. No. You have to function; for their sake.

They had never truly gotten over the death of their baby girl. The wound was as raw as it had been on that day, and even though it had been years, she knew that it would still takes years to come to heal fully.

Their daughter hadn't survived. Her beautiful daughter Freya had been too weak to survive. Or had it been her fault? She had always looked for a responsible party in this nightmare, and she was sure that she had found it in herself. She knew it didn't make things better, but she couldn't help herself.

Molly wondered if perhaps she had been hit with a spell and didn't notice. They had been in a war after all. And she was looking for someone—anyone—other than herself to blame.

She couldn't help thinking what it would have been like had their daughter not died that day. What would she look like now? Would she be asleep peacefully in a room with the other girls in Hogwarts?

Molly cried herself to sleep several times that night and she knew her husband was doing the same, as they were waking each other in turn, despite their best attempts not to.

Those memories would haunt her forever; the worst thing was, that a part of her would always cherish the short—way too short—time Freya had been with them.

She never stopped wondering about what could have been. Would she have been like any of her other children? Or would she have been totally different? Would she have been a Gryffindor? Who would she have dated and—eventually—married? What would have been her chosen job?

Countless questions that would never be answered.

* * *

The following morning, they were woken by a scream a few hours before dawn.

Molly and Arthur jumped out of their bed and ran to the origin of the sound. They were so fast that they might as well have apparated, but not one of the Weasleys was surprised by that.

Absolutely nothing would stop Molly Weasley from getting to her children; such things had not been invented yet and most likely would never be. She would do anything. Especially if she suspected one of them may be hurt.

As it turned out, Ginny had had a nightmare she refused to give any more details of. Before she woke up however, her magic had moved some of her toys—perhaps to provide a shield or something? They would never figure it out unless Ginny decided to tell them more about her dream. Anyways, she had stood up with the hope of spending the rest of the night with Molly and Arthur—which she, of course, would have, if it had come to that point—and tripped over her toy broom, as she did not expect anything to be there.

During her fall, she let out a squeaky sound. After that, however, she screamed in pain. That was the scream that had woken her parents—longer and louder than the squeak that had escaped her mere seconds ago.

Ginny didn't exactly land well and Molly didn't trust herself to heal that kind of injury—neither did her husband, which was the reason Arthur took the day off; they were going to St. Mungo's—they were due for a routine check anyways.

Well, she and Ginny were. Arthur would stay at the Burrow until Ron woke up.

* * *

By chance, they got Healer Wilson. The one Healer who knew.

Maybe Fate was just being cruel. Maybe it was a blessing. Molly wasn't sure.

"Aren't you big already?" Healer Wilson commented in attempt to calm Ginny, who had not stopped crying yet—and didn't look like she would in the near future. "You know, the last time I've seen you, you were just a little babe. Before that even! In fact, I accompanied your mother during all seven of her pregnancies."

Healer Wilson paled as she realized what she had just said—as did Ginny's mother.

A few seconds passed before Ginny realized what was wrong. " _Seven_ pregnancies? I mean, we are seven, but surely... the twins…."

Healer Wilson exchanged a long look with her mother. They looked sad for some reason. Why would they? Wouldn't another pregnancy mean she would be a big sister?

Huh. Wouldn't that be something? If her mother gave her a little sibling to play with? So she would not be alone next year, with Ron in Hogwarts? Especially if it turned out to be a little sister! Ginny would teach her everything she knew—and then some. After all, she still had time to prepare.

Her mother shook her head. "Wait until Arthur and Ronald get here."

* * *

Her father and youngest brother only took an hour, much to Ginny's delight—she was really impatient. Of course, her family knew that before—after all, she wanted to go to Hogwarts a tiny bit sooner than possible. Okay, since she could think.

Once she saw the flames turn green, she sprinted to the fireplace and dragged her father and brother over to the two witches, who had sat down on a conjured couch with the intent to talk quietly during the wait. Molly couldn't just sit there and do nothing. She was too nervous. How would her two babies take in the news? It had to be shocking for them to find out they had had a sister even before they were born!

Molly exhaled slowly and closed her eyes for a few seconds, her thoughts jumping from one disastrous outcome to the next...

Ginny frowned. Her mum and the nice healer had been sitting on that couch for what felt like days Only neither of them spoke more than a word, despite the fact that they tried several times. Ginny couldn't figure out why her mother and the Healer were doing this—not that they were actually doing anything! Why did they look so sad? Her mother shouldn't look sad. It was her Mom. She had to be happy, but she wasn't, for some reason.

And now she had to wait to find out why.

The waiting annoyed Ginny so much. Why couldn't they just tell her? Why did she have to wait? Of course she asked them—why on earth wouldn't she?—but the looks she had received stopped the young girl from trying again.

And then, finally, after what felt like another three and a half hours of stupid, useless, and completely pointless waiting, Healer Wilson told the two youngest Weasleys what had happened between Charlie's birth and Percy's, because neither her mom nor her dad could bring themselves to do it.

She told them about their older sister, Freya, who hadn't even survived to her own birth.

* * *

 **Please tell me what you think!**

 **~Marvelgeek42**


End file.
